


Requiem

by Selfmanic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Major Character Injury, Muteness, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Recovery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22232260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selfmanic/pseuds/Selfmanic
Summary: Clint Barton is severely injured on a solo mission and thought dead. How does the team respond when he's suddenly found?
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 187





	1. Chapter 1

Clint had lost track of how long he’d been left in this pit of a cell.

Was it weeks?

Months?

He doubted it had been as long as a year.

No one would survive a year of this.

Could they?

He was bound, wrists to ankles, on his stomach, a gag stretching his swollen, disfigured face. Leaking blood and spit pooled under his chin and chest leaving him shivering against the wet concrete. When the door finally opened he ignored the vibration it caused. Maybe they would finally let him die he thought absently, already letting himself drop back into the darkness.

“Christ, this one’s alive! Get a medic in here! ” the agent barked, fighting the rusty metal door open further. They eased the limp body out into the hallway so they had room to work. “Help me with the cuffs, Daniels.”

“It’s not cuffs, Jesus. They bolted his hands together.” He choked out even as they unhooked the man’s legs and slowly eased them to the ground; a thick metal bolt ran through the man’s palms forcing them together behind his back.

“Fuck, his face. What kind of gag is that?” another agent asked, taking up a spot to guard the hallway in between glances at the prisoner. Sharp edged chain held a spiked metal bit between the man’s teeth. It’d been cranked tight for so long that his cheeks had split, leaving him with a death’s head grin.

“Ignore it for now. The medics are going to have to deal with it once we get him out.”

“Yeah, fuck. How’s this guy alive?”

“He’s Shield.” the agent said with a grunt cutting through the last link of chain. “Hey, bring the backboard in here!”

Clint never heard the curses the Shield operatives unleashed as they found him; his implants had been shorted out when he was captured. He never heard them screaming for a medic as they fought with the chains binding him. He woke for an instant several times over the next few days while his body fought against infections and malnutrition but was dragged back down before he could really register anything. It was never more than a moment’s notice of, _soft_ , _drugs_ , before he was pulled back down.

When he next surfaced, he managed to get one eye open a sliver past the swelling. He noted that he was just one bed in many in a white medical ward. His hands, neck, and face were wrapped in bandages with several IVs tunneling their way into the crook of both arms. The thick taste of blood and betadine filled his mouth and nose.

Someone on his blind side grabbed his wrist and he couldn’t stop his instinctive flinch and the return blow he landed even if it was weak. The grip disappeared while a nurse rushed past him to check on the man he’d hit. Even weak he had a good punch; he’d have a great shiner for the rest of the week Clint noted tiredly.

The nurse carefully checked him over before helping to hold his arm for the agent. Clint managed to turn his head enough to eye the young man who was pressing Clint’s fingers against a scanning pad. His mouth moved but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. Clint shivered through the scan, fighting against the ingrained reactions to brace for a blow. Once he was released he curled up as much as he could, back to the man.

He didn’t hear the alarm his prints triggered notifying the agent that the bed before him held a high priority patient. He didn’t know of the alert that was sent to A.D Hill and Director Fury interrupting a meeting with the WSC. Unknown to anyone else a notice was also sent to Tony Stark as the bug he’d left tracked and alerted him to any mention of the missing Avenger.

Hours later Clint watched, detached, as he was moved in a flurry of activity to a gurney rushed down hallways and backdoors before being loaded into a plane. Several soldiers with casts and bandages looked on as he was brought on board with wide eyes. See the Amazing Hawkeye; watch him drool, he thought with a weak cough.

He let the thrum of the engines in his chest lull him back to sleep, not waking until he was moved from the plane and into the base. He thought it might be the New York base but he couldn’t be sure. The room was bigger than the normal closets he’d stayed in as an agent when he was injured so they probably had identified him as the missing Avenger.

***

“Why wasn’t I notified as soon as Barton was found?” Phil Coulson bit out, standing in a loose parade rest to one side as an unconscious Clint Barton was eased back into his bed after surgery.

“You were on a level eight mission, Phil. I sent the alert as soon as you arrived at a secure base.”

“He’s been in New York for a week.” he snapped trying not to wince as the bandages on Clint’s hands were changed, it would be a miracle if the man was able to hold a pencil once they healed much less a bow.

“He was at another base for almost a week before he was even identified. I had him brought in as soon as we knew.” Fury said with a huff eyeing the still form before them, the agent had been MIA for over six months before he was listed as deceased. Now, after having been captured and tortured for over a year, he was a wasted, destroyed version of his former self. Fury mentally started listing out the plans that would have to be reworked now that Hawkeye was officially out of the picture, there would be no coming back from this.

“Have you informed the rest of the team?” Phil asked as the nurse finished up and left the room.

“Not yet.”

“Nick,” Phil said with a sigh, “Hiding that I was alive from the team didn’t turn out well. Doing it again will be even worse.”

“Phil, I wanted to make sure both he, and you, were stable before the entire team started camping out.” Fury said with a snort, “Barton’s been spiking a high temp since he arrived. Today’s the first day it was low enough to even attempt surgery.”

“The team?”

“They will be notified later today. I doubt any of them will be able to see him until their missions are completed.”

“Natasha would want to be here.” Phil said stiffly.

“She’s on an eyes only mission with Rogers. They’re both radio silent until they check in.”

“Stark?”

“Stark is dealing with his own problems. Miss Pots is still dealing with her exposure to extremis. And before you ask, Dr. Banner is currently in India. He asked only to be contacted if the world is ending, again.”

“What about Agent Morse? Barton and Morse were in a relationship prior to his disappearance.”

“Barbara Morse filed for divorce a month into him being MIA. She remarried last month and transferred out to the Florida base.”

“I need a month vacation time.” Phil said walking over to the bed and adjusting one edge of a blanket.

“Phil, I need you out there with your team.”

“No, Nick. If it were you in that bed would you want to wake and be alone? I know I wouldn’t. Clint was there for me after Loki. Every time I woke up he was there for me. The least I can do is return the favor.”

“One month and then I expect your ass back on the bus.”

“Of course, Director Fury.”

“Don’t sass me, Agent. I still authorize your paycheck.” Fury said giving him a glare, “Anyway, Barton has been out of it since he arrived. The docs say he’s unresponsive to questions and violent when touched in any way unless drugged beforehand.”

“Did anyone check his hearing aids?” Phil asked with a tiny smirk, keeping his eyes on his former asset.

“What?”

“If his internal hearing aids were damaged and he can’t hear or even see given how swollen his face and eyes are then he’s going to be violent when touched without warning.”

“Shit.” Fury said, with a snarl. “Excuse me while I go eviscerate his primary physician.”

“This is exactly why I need to be here, Nick.”

“Yeah, yeah, get him calmed down if he does wake up, Phil, so that they can check his hearing. You have one month to get him stable. After that I will quarter your team here when you’re not active but I can’t do anything about the outbound missions.”

“I’ll make it work.” Phil said carefully running one finger along an uninjured spot on Clint’s arm. Phil wanted to demand a list of every injury and their treatment but that could wait on the doctor’s return.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint slowly came awake to a faint sensation of tapping against one arm. He shivered slightly and the tapping stopped for a moment before restarting. He finally realized it was Morse code after catching a few letters.

-.-. .-.. .. -. -

Someone was tapping C l i n t against his arm. Why would they be doing that? Oh, right. He was in the hospital. He’d been rescued. God, they must have him on the good drugs, he thought muzzily, shifting slightly in the bed. His neck gave a warning twinge of pain at the small movement. Okay, not moving much right now.

He fought with his uncooperative eyes and managed to get one mostly open. He slowly glanced around the room fighting against the exhaustion already trying to pull him back down. Another tap pulled his wandering attention back to the side.

.... . .-.. .-.. ---

Hello, he translated slowly. He squinted at the dark blob, blinking while he waited for his vision to clear. Finally it focused enough that he could see the familiar profile sitting next to him, Phil. That was good; Phil would deal with the doctors and get them to get him his hearing aids.

Clint managed to gesture back weakly with one arm before going back to fuzzily surveying the rest of the room. He was surprised it was empty; normally Natasha would stay with Phil when he was in the hospital. Was she out on an Op? Clumsily raising his arm he tried to make Natasha’s name sign but Phil grabbed his wrist before he could reach his face.

-. --- - | - --- ..- -.-. ....

Not touch. Okay, his face and neck hurt too much anyway. His hands were thickly bandaged with one in a bulky plastic brace. How exactly was he supposed to ask questions if he couldn’t sign, write, speak, or hear?

-... .-.. .. -. -.-

Blink? He was blinking thank you very much. It even hurt to blink and Phil wanted him to do it more? Clint lightly bopped Phil’s leg where he was seated next to him with his forearm. There was no way in hell he was blinking Morse Code for the next hour if he even stayed awake that long.

Phil slowly signed that Clint would get his hearing aids soon, the doctors wanted to wait until the swelling went down a bit more. Considering his head was a mass of bandages, he could understand that. Clint gave him a double bump in acknowledgement before letting the drugs pull him back under, the rest of his question could wait for now.

***

Phil spent most of his time at Clint’s bedside on the phone or doing paperwork. It was surprisingly hard to bring someone back from the dead legally. Most of this had already been handled by the time he’d made it out of the hospital and he didn’t want Clint to have to deal with anything beyond healing right now.

Clint had never been one to own much and most of his belongings had been donated to charity or destroyed beyond a few favorite tee shirts Natasha had stolen. His bows had been displayed in the tower in a spot of honor along one wall of the common level. Phil had no idea if he should take them down or not. Would Clint be okay seeing that they’d mourned him? That everyone he knew had moved on after his death?

The doctors were being extremely reluctant to allow Clint to leave the ward without having 24 hour assistance. He was extremely limited in what he could do thanks to the injuries to his hands. He needed daily physical and occupational therapy and would for months to come. He was confined to a wheelchair anytime he walked farther than the bathroom thanks to how weak he was after more than a year of confinement.

Considering how independent Clint normally was, Phil was surprised he was taking everything so calmly. He’d kind of expected at least one attempt to escape the ward by now. Of course that might just be because with everything he’d been through he collapsed into bed after each physical therapy session and slept until his next meal or session started.

Phil glanced back over where Clint was sprawled across the bed. He’d breathed a sigh of relief when the bandages finally came off and the swelling went down. Clint’s face still had angry red lines bracketing his mouth and a crosshatching of red and white scars across his throat but it was nowhere near as bad as they’d feared.

The inside of his mouth, throat, and tongue were crisscrossed with scars limiting the use of his tongue. The speech therapists weren't certain he would ever be able to speak completely normally considering the damage and his already present hearing loss. Either way he was looking at months if not years of therapy and speech lessons.

Phil wasn’t sure how he was ranked in Clint’s view of the world. The only people the archer really seemed to trust were Natasha and Phil, a woman who could kill while wearing a straightjacket and a paper-pusher/analyst for a secret government organization. He’d been betrayed or abandoned by nearly everyone he ever knew before Shield and Phil wasn’t sure how he would react with this latest blow.

When he’d been declared dead after the battle, only Clint had searched for him. He’d spent every spare moment covertly searching different Shield bases one room at a time. It had only taken him three weeks to track Phil down.

Only Clint had spent every second he could at his bedside. He’d found out that the man had stood guard outside his rooms while he slept so that if he woke in pain or needing help getting out of bed he could be there in an instant. At the time he’d simply been glad someone was there to help while he was muddled by the pain medication and exhaustion from surgery.

Phil spent six months searching for Clint before Fury forced him to curtail the search and go back to his new team on the bus. He’d never really stopped looking. He’d chased rumors and made calls during his few days of downtime and afterhours. For fourteen months he’d hunted for the archer only to find out that Clint had been found by a random sweep team at a small Hydra base ten thousand miles away from where he’d disappeared.

***

Clint carefully tapped out his questions on Phil’s knee the next time he woke up. It was a slow process but thankfully Phil was good at guessing what he wanted to ask. The answers were not what he expected. They’d given up on him. They thought he was dead.No one had visited him besides Phil and it looked like no one would.

Everyone was out on missions or had moved away. They’d moved on without him. Heck, he knew him and Barbara were not doing good before he left but he hadn’t expected her to have divorced him and already remarried while he was still listed as MIA.

Phil was working on getting him a place to stay when he got out of the hospital. Stark had apparently offered his rooms in the tower back. Phil was all for staying at the tower since they could use the gym there for rehab or even the medical floor if he had to have another surgery. Clint wasn’t sure he wanted to stay at the tower when the rest of the team was gone.

The worst part was how defenseless he was. He couldn’t use his hands at all. The doctors were talking about rebreaking some of the bones and casting him for at least six weeks. Six weeks without being able to hold anything or use his hands at all. He wouldn’t be able to dress himself, feed himself, wipe his ass, nothing.

There was no way anyone was going to let him go back to living alone. He would need constant support and care while his injuries healed. Clint just was praying it would not mean staying in a nursing home or anything like that. If they realized how worthless he really was now he might never get out again.

The therapist came in along with one burly looking nurse, mouth running too fast for him to lip read. Glancing at Phil, Clint sighed with relief when the man quickly signed out that they wanted him to try and walk a bit. Right, he could do that.

Sliding down to the middle of the bed and swinging his legs down, Clint fought a wave of dizziness as the therapist pulled him upright by one elbow. They fixed a belt around his waist to give the helper something to grab one to and stood him up. Standing was painful. Walking was embarrassing with how quickly it wore him out. One lap around the room and they had to heave him back into the bed, his legs refusing to assist.

He answered Phil’s questions absently as he caught his breath, tapping out what his pain was on a scale of one to ten and doing yes or no for the rest. Yes, two taps, he was in pain. No, one tap, he was not thirsty. It was maddening.

Clint noted that Phil had left at some point while he gasped for air and let the pain meds lull him into a doze. When he woke up hours later Phil was back working at the small table that had appeared at some point. He glanced up as if sensing Clint watching him.

Phil grabbed a box and came to the bed, sitting on the edge as he showed Clint the hearing aids. Clint let Phil get them on and sighed softly just to hear the sound of it.

“Are they okay?” Phil asked tucking the box into a pocket. Clint gave a small nod trying not to wince when his neck protested the motion. His face may be healing but any expression tugged at his scarred cheeks.

“The doctors think you’ll be able to go home at the end of the week.” Clint raised one eyebrow, glancing at his hands. Phil got the message and nodded with a sigh. “They want to reset the bones in both hands tomorrow. Your hands will be casted after the procedure.”

Clint nodded, yes, he knew he was going to be useless after they casted his hands.

“I picked up some clothes for the next few days. I wasn’t sure what you would want.”

Phil unloaded the small bag he had brought by earlier. Most of the clothes were generic Shield exercise gear and uniforms. He’d added the two tee shirts and a hoodie that Clint had favored almost reluctantly. He had taken to wearing the hoodie himself on his days off.


	3. Chapter 3

Two days later Clint let the nurse help him struggle into his chosen outfit. It felt good to feel the worn jeans and familiar hoodie wrapped around him even if they were hanging off his frame. He shuffled to the chair and tried not to glare as he was wheeled through the halls, Shield was, no had, given up on him. Time, yet again, to rebuild his family and who he trusted.

The worst part of the trip to the tower was the noise. He’d spent over a year almost completely deaf. Now that he had his hearing aids back he found himself turning them down as low as they would go or off completely if someone wasn’t talking to him. With the casts he could only move his thumbs, so it took some fumbling to get them back on once they reached the tower leaving his hands and wrists pulsing with pain.

Phil took one look at his pale face and skipped the common level, instead taking him straight to his floor and the bedroom. Clint crawled out of the chair and into the too large bed with a huff. He took the pills and water Phil handed him without complaint. His unused muscles were protesting how much he’d used them already.

“It is good to see you again, Agent Barton.” Jarvis said as Phil eased a pillow behind his back. Clint opened his mouth, closed it, and finally tapped Phil with one cast. How the hell was he supposed to respond to an AI who used voice responses for everything?

“Jarvis, Clint isn’t able to speak right now and with his casts he can’t sign.” Phil said hands busy unpacking Clint’s bags. “What would you suggest as another method of communication between the two of you?”

‘Would he be able to use a tablet at all, Agent Coulson?”

“Possibly,” Phil said with a frown at Clint’s casts before he turned to dig through his bag. “Let’s try.”

They fought with where to set the tablet before Clint finally just pulled himself into a tailor’s seat with it on the bed in front of him. He couldn’t hold the tablet but he could slowly tap out a sentence using his fingertips. He hoped no one would rag him on the misspellings.

Most people who worked with Clint eventually heard the stories of him growing up in the circus. The tended to assume his education had stopped at middle or high school at the same time. Clint never tried to change those opinions. He’d rather be underestimated then looked up to.

Somehow, Phil had never underestimated him. He pushed Clint to take courses online and classes when Shield offered them. Few people ever saw his full file and realized just what Clint was capable of. He was certified on every weapon and aircraft that Shield used. He spoke six languages fluently and around twenty others enough to travel in the area easily. He had several degrees thanks to all the classes he’d taken over the years but few people knew.

After Loki Clint had been asked to outline exactly what he would have done if he actually had wanted to take down the helicarrier and Shield. He’d outlined six different scenarios for taking it down and followed up the carrier crash with systematic attacks on every Shield base, warehouse, and allies, utterly destroying every possible way the agency could recover. Hill had looked slightly horrified when he finished outlining everything. He glanced over the room before continuing. “Selvig built in a safe guard. I ensured that he only hired incompetents and had a plan that damaged Shield without leaving them unable to strike back.” Clint had said calmly keeping his eyes on Fury as Hill silently watching him with a look of disgust and horror.

That had started his downward slide with Shield. No one trusted him to have their back in a mission and many agents requested that they be removed from any team he was assigned. He spent most of his missions alone, silent in his nest waiting for the shot. The relaxed camaraderie of post mission transport and debrief was gone. He was suddenly the outcast.

He understood the agents that he had injured or fought against during Loki shying away from him but the entire organization seemed to have turned its back on him in the months since the attack. He’d taken his last mission in an effort to get away from the constant animosity. It had been a three month surveillance mission that he’d hoped would give everyone some time and distance. Instead he had been captured and Shield had written him off.

The next few days were slow to pass. Clint was allowed on the treadmill twice a day for up to thirty minutes of walking before he worked with a physical therapist on strengthening his arms and legs. He would finish his first gym session in time for lunch, still liquid mostly. Phil had started handing him a few pieces of fruit, a slice of apple or handful of grapes, but it was hit or miss for what his stomach and his throat could handle.

After lunch was speech therapy and more physical therapy for his hands once he got his casts off. He hated the speech therapy. He’d been through enough of it growing up deaf. He only forced himself because he knew he needed to be able to speak to even get a desk job somewhere. He’d insisted that Phil leave for those sessions, he had enough embarrassment as it was without his friend watching him struggle to control his voice.

He’d seen the look in Fury’s eyes the last time he visited. Clint knew he’d been written off as an asset. Sure they will pay for his medical and maybe even a small pension for his years of service but beyond that he was on his own.

Once he got the hang of the tablet he started accessing his outside email accounts and seeing if any of his old mercenary allies might need an extra man on their crews. It would not be as challenging as Shield work but it would be a fairly stable job even if the chance of the team pulling him out of a bad op was lower. On a merc team if you got caught, you were left.

It would be at least another six months before he was even back to a normal weight and maybe longer to get back into fighting trim so he had plenty of time to consider his options. He could go back solo, work a merc team, try and do security for a base or merc group.

He even could take some time off for a year or two. He’d never been one to spend much money and Shield at least paid well for the more dangerous missions. He checked a few of his offshore accounts and he had enough to travel or find somewhere remote to live for few years. After spending over a year in a hole he was contemplating a remote beach somewhere.

The only flaw in his plans was the team. He knew Natasha wouldn’t throw him away; she just put the current mission above things like pain and emotion. When she got back they would talk, until then he just had to wait.

The fact was, he barely knew the rest of the Avengers. He’d been on one mission with the group before he’d been pulled back to Shield for evaluation after Loki. They had barely said three words to each other outside of battle. Two months later he was back doing missions and six weeks after that he was captured and listed as Missing in Action.

***

Clint was brooding on the couch when Phil returned to the tower. He was spending his afternoons on base getting his new team settled and dealing with the backlog of paperwork and cases that had accrued while he was gone. Fury had still not filled his former position and Phil was working two jobs while they tried to find a replacement. He was fairly certain that the Director was just hoping he would take up the work without complaint, which was not going to happen.

With a sigh he settled down in a chair to one side with a stack of paperwork. Frankly, he was tired. He’d been working for Shield for over twenty years. He’d joined Shield when both Nick and he had been recruited straight out of the rangers, one weird mission that most of his team hadn’t survived and suddenly he was being offered a job by the Men in Black.

They’d worked their way up the ranks, Nick fast tracking to administration and command while Phil worked mainly with the emergency response teams. Eventually he moved into handling his own teams as well as working on larger scale projects.

Over the years both their responsibilities grew. Once Nick reached Director he had started to lean on Phil and the other agents below him to deal with much of the day to day work needed for the many projects that the man was pushing through the organization. The Avengers initiative might have been Nick’s baby but Phil had put in most of the hours on the project.

He’d given more years to Shield now than he had for the army. All his friends and everyone he considered family were at Shield, yet since Loki that had slowly been changing. Shield was slowly becoming something that he wasn’t sure he wanted to be associated with. They seemed more concerned with some hidden agenda lately then the goals of global safety and support that Phil had pledged his life to.

He glanced over at the silent archer and suppressed another sigh. It was clear the man was depressed. It wasn’t hard to understand why. Clint might be a survivor used to dealing with things without support but he’d always had his basic health and his aim to use as a commodity. Without a voice or hands, he was essentially useless. There was no guarantee that his hands would ever recover enough to even hold a gun, much less a bow.

“Fuck, it. Do you want to get out of here for a while?” Phil asked standing and pulling off his jacket. He watched Clint’s eyes widen as he tossed it carelessly across the chair and started rolling up his sleeves.

“Where?” Clint’s tablet said mechanically, once he finished finger typing.

“Out.” Phil said with a huff, “A bar or restaurant. Maybe a park we can walk in for a bit, get some air.”

Phil watched Clint touch his throat with his fingertips, hands and wrists still encased in casts. His throat was doing better and he was slowly starting to eat real food but he still had bad days where it burned when he swallowed. Phil thought he might just be scared of doing more damage since he hadn’t really tried to eat anything but liquids or soft foods since his return to the tower.

“We’ll find you something you can eat. I just need to get out and I think it will do you good as well.” Phil said with a huff, tugging off his tie and discarding it while he locked up his briefcase.

“Help change?” Clint’s tablet asked, while he glanced down at the ratty jeans and too big tee shirt he was wearing.

“Sure, what do you want to wear?” Phil asked, following Clint into his room. Clint shrugged and gestured at his closet in a blatant, “You pick.” motion.

Phil ducked into the oversized closet, glancing over the limited options. He would have to take the younger man shopping once he got out of his casts. Nearly all his casual clothes were worn or had visible tears or holes.

Near the back he found an outfit that Clint had worn during one of Natasha’s missions. Black slacks and a soft purple button down that hopefully they could get the casts through the sleeves. Phil grabbed a belt and Clint’s combat boots from where he’d kicked them off near the door before dumping everything on the bed next to Clint.

Clint eyed the pile with a nearly silent sigh but gamely started wiggling out of his tee-shirt. Phil did his best to ignore the new scars that covered his friend’s thin frame as he helped him into an undershirt and then carefully threaded his casts through each sleeve. He braced Clint as he stepped out of his old pants and into the new slacks leaving the fastenings for him to fuss with while Phil tied his boots.

Phil buttoned the shirt up last but left the cuffs undone, rolling up the sleeves so they wouldn’t bother Clint. He was notorious for attacking his uniform shirts with scissors to remove the sleeves, claiming the interfered with his aim. Phil thought it was more that the man hated to be restrained in any way, shape, or form.

“Ready?” he asked once Clint stopped fiddling with his belt. Getting a nod he gestured for Clint to lead the way out of the bedroom. “Jarvis, can you call us a cab please?”

“Of course, Agent Coulson. I did wish to inform you that Master Stark will be in town next week to deal with several issues at Stark Industries.”

“Is Miss Potts doing better?”

“She is. Sir believes they have found a stable dosing schedule that will allow her to live a mostly regular life.”

“Mostly?”

“Her healing factor will be higher than a normal human as will her body temperature by a few degrees.”

“Neither of which should be a problem with her returning to the tower or to work for SI. Thank you for keeping me updated, Jarvis, and let Miss Potts know that I’m glad to hear about her recovery.”

Clint nudged him at this, “Both of us are glad to hear it.” he offered with a nod at the other man.

“I shall pass on your message, Agent Coulson. Your cab has arrived downstairs.”

“Thanks, Jarvis.” Phil pulled a large black pea coat out of the closet and helped Clint into it as the elevator descended, ignored the face Clint made when a royal blue scarf was wrapped securely around his throat as well. Tugging on his own jacket and gloves he took the tablet from Clint so the man wasn’t hugging it to his chest like a child.

“We need to get you a shoulder bag or something.” he murmured, as they got into the cab, handing the device back once they were both buckled in.

“I’m careful.” the tablet intoned, once Clint finished his slow pecking.

“You are.” Phil agreed, “But you might need your hands free once in a while.”

Clint huffed but nodded, rubbing the edge of one cast against his knee.

“Do your hands itch?” Clint nodded with a frown, clearly forcing himself to stop the rubbing motion.

“Would the doctors let you use a rod of some kind?” Phil asked but Clint was already shaking his head and tapping one fingertip against his palm.

“Sorry, they don’t want you reopening the wounds on your hands, stupid of me.” Phil muttered, shifting slightly in his seat. Clint started typing a response but before he could finish the cab stopped and they were climbing out.

Phil led him a half block down the street to an unlabeled door. Knocking in a quick pattern they waiting for a moment before the door opened. They were let in and he took Clint’s elbow guiding him down the long hall and out into the bar. Phil felt him tense as they stepped into the lush velvet and wood lined room. Once they reached the bar, he helped Clint out of his coat and scarf, setting the tablet on the bar in front of him.

“Hey, Frank.” Phil said with a small grin when the bartender headed their way. “Let me introduce you to Clint, a friend of mine. He’s getting over an accident so I hope you don’t mind the tablet.”

“Ouch, both wrists? Car accident?” Frank asked eying Clint’s casts.

“Yeah, plus a bruised larynx. Think we can get two glasses of scotch and the menu?”

“Coming right up. First one’s on me; you both look like you need it.”

“Thanks, Frank.”

A moment later two glasses of scotch were deposited along with a large glass of water for Clint and two straws. Phil calmly deposited the straws in Clint’s drinks and centered the menu between them. He’d been eating here long enough to know what he wanted but he let Clint decide what he’d like before waving Frank back over and placing their order.

The bar was mostly empty since it was a Tuesday night so they weren't bothering anyone as Clint slowly typed seemingly random questions for Phil to answer. It seemed he was determined to learn more about his former handler. They kept up the chit chat as they ate.

_Favorite color? Green._

_Favorite book? Watership down._

_Worst injury on duty? Budapest._

_Best part of his childhood? His dog named Sargent._

_Worst part of his childhood? Losing his parents._

Clint fell silent at this, fiddling with his chicken pot pie. Phil laughed softly and pushed his plate away. They’d bled all over each other enough that a story shouldn’t be this awkward.

“It’s fine, Clint. I hated losing them but I was sent to my grandparents. I didn’t have as rough a time as you did.”

“Promise?” the tablet asked mechanically.

“I swear. The only trouble I had from them was when my Grandfather found out I was gay and joining the army. They were convinced I was walking to my death.”

“Joined anyway?”

“My dad was in the army. I thought I needed to at least try for him. I finished my degree, joined the army, became a ranger and eventually caught the eye of Shield. Nick had been a friend in the army and recommended that I be recruited. Fifteen years later, here we are.”

Clint nodded, pushing his own plate away and fighting his scotch closer for a sip. Phil was at least glad to see that Clint wasn’t trying to drown his sorrows. He’d barely touched his second glass since he’d received it.

“What else did you want to ask?” Phil asked gesturing Frank over and asking for a coffee.

“Dating?”

“Not much. I dated a bit in high school and college, once in the Army. A few dates over the years with Shield but none really stuck.”

“Cellist?”

“She went back to Portland a month before the battle of New York. We broke up about a month before that.”

“Now?”

“Am I dating now? No. I’m not sure I want to burden anyone with all my baggage at this point.”

“Should.”

“Probably, but when has anyone who worked for Shield done the smart thing?”

“Point.”

“Are you planning to date?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you have your eye on anyone?”

“No. Not really looking.”

“For a long time I thought you and Natasha were still together.”

“Month.”

“One month? The rumor mill had it closer to three years.”

“Sister.”

“I could see that.” Phil agreed; he was starting to realize that while they were friends and coworkers they’d never really had any in depth conversations. “What’s your favorite color?”

Clint glanced at him curiously but started to type.

“Purple.”

“Favorite book?”

“LOTR.”

“Lord of the Rings? Have you seen the movies?” Clint shook his head and Phil grinned wickedly in response. “We can do a marathon this weekend if you want. I have the DVDs.” Clint nodded slowly in response like he was unsure of something.

“Only if you want to.”

“Not busy?”

“This weekend? No. The bus is still grounded in New York and I have them researching some cold cases.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” Clint typed out with a small smile.

They continued to chat back and forth about random things until they finished their drinks before heading back to the tower. Phil helped Clint out of his button down and shoes before bidding him a goodnight. Phil fell into bed with a sigh, he had enjoyed tonight more than he’d thought he would.

***

Clint lay in bed considering the day. Coulson, no...Phil. He kept surprising him. Every time he thought he’d seen everything, the man pulled back another layer and exposed a new side of him. Tonight had been surprisingly fun he thought with a small grin.

Clint had watched this transformation of his former handler with surprise. He’d watched as the man stripped away his normal Shield mask with each article of clothing discarded. He knew the man wasn’t happy with what he’d learned since the battle of New York. He was angry with Shield, angry with Director Fury for calling off the search for Clint, angry with all the secrets and misdirection that seemed to be happening all around them.

At the bar it had just been Phil, a man that Clint was realizing he knew little about. He hadn’t been able to resist peppering him with questions. He knew he was behaving like they were on a first date just learning about each other but he wanted to see more of this new version of the man he’d thought he knew.

He could recite how the man took his coffee, which ties he preferred and which color he wore depending on his mood. He knew the tiny facial and hand tics that signaled his disapproval or meant that he’d been awake or more than twenty four hours. He knew a hundred little things about the man after having worked for him for over ten years now yet he still knew next to nothing about his home or personal life.

The worst part was that he wanted to know. He wanted to know what Phil did on his nights off when he wasn’t working. He wanted to sit next to him at hidden bars and talk about books and bad TV shows.

He was used to not getting what he wanted. It had been a theme in his life since birth. If it was something that might have improved his life it was guaranteed to fail or hurt him in some way.

He wasn’t sure if it was worth pushing for more with his handler if it would hurt their relationship. Right now he was leaning on the man too much. He needed help with so many things until he got his casts taken off in two weeks.

What if things went weird between them and they were stuck having to be around each other since Clint needed help. Was he only doing this because Clint needed so much help? Was it pity? He hoped not.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning they both got up and had breakfast together like nothing had happened. Phil tied Clint’s boots and did the things you needed thumbs for while Clint watched in mute confusion. Nothing had changed yet everything felt different.

He watched as Phil’s mask and armor slowly came back up until by the time he left for Shield's New York base he was firmly back in his Coulson persona. While he’d always enjoyed watching Coulson work for his unfailing competency and the steel he hid behind his everyman persona he couldn’t enjoy it this morning now that he knew what it really hid.

“I have a mission next week.” Phil said as he finished stacking the dishes in the dishwasher. “We need to decide who’s going to be here while I’m gone.”

“I’m fine.” the tablet rattled out, Clint already tapping out his next phrase.

“Clint,”

“Don’t need help.”

“You don’t have opposable thumbs right now.” Phil said glancing at the black casts with a frown.

“Not Jarvis either.”

“Jarvis is a machine, Clint. I just want to see if you want someone familiar or if a live in assistant is fine.” Phil snapped, gathering up his files and stuffing them into his briefcase, “They’re going to be here if you need them, whether or not you use them.”

“Don’t need.”

“Then don’t use them but it would make me feel better to know someone was here in case you needed them.”

“Who?”

“Darcy Lewis or a professional.”

“New Mexico?”

“Yes.”

“Two words.”

“Which are?” Phil asked with a small frown as Clint typed.

“Tazed Thor.” the tablet said flatly.

“So, Darcy is a no?” Phil said, rolling his eyes slightly at Clint’s emphatic gestures. “Fine, I’ll get someone from the agency to come over this weekend. I leave late Sunday night. Text me what you want for dinner later, I’ll pick something up.”

Clint simply nodded and struggled to take his cup to the sink between his casts while Phil left for his day at Shield. He had another hour before he had to go to the gym for his Physical Therapy so he went around his room straightening things up as much as he could. Picking his clothes up with his toes and kicking them into the basket counted!

If Phil was going to start going out on missions again then he needed to start becoming more self-sufficient. He wandered around collecting up his things one at a time and stuffing everything in approximately where they belonged. It wasn’t like he had that many things anyway.

Outside of his therapies he really didn’t have that much to do. He’d started a list on his tablet of what he wanted to work on once his hands were out of the casts but right now his options were pretty much limited to sleeping, television, or reading books. He’d never been fond of digital books, preferring to pick up whatever paperbacks had been left in the safe house they were using for that particular mission and occasionally listening to audiobooks on the long flights.

Stuffing his tablet into the messenger bag that Phil had provided, Clint headed down to the gym for his first PT session of the day. Two hours later he headed upstairs to shower and struggle into clean clothes before going to his session of speech therapy. Once that was over he drank a smoothie for lunch before heading to his last PT session. Once that was over he had between four to six hours before Phil would get back depending on how bad the day at Shield went.

Clint spent a lot of his downtime reading books on his tablet, catching up on news and articles he had missed in his 14 months of confinement. Jarvis was helping a lot by searching for different topics or genres that he was interested in. He was pretty sure Stark had arranged for him to have unlimited access to books on his tablet but he was content to buy the books that he wanted to read for now.

“I’m sorry. Things went fubar and half of R&D had to be rescued from killer dust bunnies.” Phil said, stalking in and tugging off his tie.

Tonight, Phil was late and Clint was fighting with a touch screen to try and order a pizza in when he arrived sans the take out he had promised earlier. He watched as Phil discarded his briefcase, coat, and started rolling up his sleeves. Looks like it would be another Phil night with work and Agent Coulson banished from the tower.

“Pizza sounds good. Do you want me to call it in?” Phil offered pulling out two beers and opening both. He set one on the counter, hunting through the drawers for a straw for Clint. Clint closed the program he’d been fighting with and gestured between the living room and the kitchen bar, uncertain where Phil wanted to sit.

“Let’s sit here. Once I get comfortable I doubt I’m getting up again.” Phil said digging out his phone from his discarded jacket. “Our normal order?” Clint nodded in agreement, glad that they did have so much history together that neither really needed to speak to know the basics.

Phil chatted lightly about his day making Clint give a few painful sounding, rasping chuckles as he explained about the R&D fiasco. Once the pizza arrived they moved to the den, Clint switching to water while Phil got another beer.

They got Jarvis to put on some jazz and they relaxed on opposite sides of the couch. Phil seemed determined to fill Clint in on the missions and mishaps that had happened while he was gone. Many of the anecdotes were hilarious given in Phil’s deadpan style and Clint found himself fighting back grins that pulled at his scarred cheeks and mouth. The bark of rasping laugher over a junior agent’s paperwork flat out hurt but Clint was willing to feel pain if he got to see Phil grin like that again.

***

_Earlier that day.._.

“Fitzsimmons, do you have a moment?” Phil asked, stepping slightly harder than he normally would so he didn’t startle the excitable scientists.  
“Of course, Agent Coulson.” Fitz said turning to face Phil.

“What do you need?” Simmons chorused, softly.

“This is not for a mission so it does not need to be put ahead of any of your other work.”

“What’s going on, AC? Do you need us for a side mission?” Sky asked as she ducked into the lab.

“No,” Phil said with a huff at the over eager young Agents, “I need a favor. A friend of mine uses Shield implanted hearing aids. A recent mission fried his and Stark offered to replace them with new tech. I need Fitzsimmons to review the changes he made and make sure they will integrate with the Agent’s current implants or if he will need all new implants placed. I’m helping him deal with doctors and scheduling the surgeries.”

“Really?” Fitz squeaked, “We get to look at Stark tech?”

“Really, and this is not on the market yet so I need you to really double check everything.” Phil said handing over the prototypes and the files. “But this can’t distract you from your other work. If it looks like it’s going to take too much of your time you need to tell me so I can find someone else to evaluate it.”

“No, I’m sure we can fit it in, Agent Coulson. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Fine, just let me know if you get bogged down.”

“Anything I can do to help, AC?”

“Not unless you want to work on a program that translates ASL to spoken word.”

“How are you gathering the data? Video or infrared scanners?”

“Primarily video but Stark has access to a lot of technology in his tower so I would not rule anything out.”  
“I’m designing something for Stark Tower?”  
“Avengers Tower, actually.”

“Will we be able to get your friend to test it?”

“Not for a few more weeks, until then I can sign ASL well enough to get you some base lines. He also uses a fair number of personal signs so those are going to have to be added individually.”

“So a learning system?”

“Or at least one where signs can be added over time.” Phil agreed, watching as the three of them started jotting down ideas at warp speed.

“Awesome!”

“Once you get things going let us know.” Fitzsimmons put in, “We can help with rigging up a set of scanners to test it.”

Phil gave a small grin as he watched his team grab the ideas and run with them. He couldn’t wait to introduce them to Clint and Natasha. Both of the assassins could be standoffish at first but he thought they would work well together and maybe even eventually become friends in time. Maybe he could suggest that Clint be recertified as a pilot so that he could go on a few missions. It was an option he could give Clint at least, something that it looked like he was going to need in the coming months.

***

The rest of the week passed quickly as both of them went about their days. Most nights they would sit together quietly together with Clint reading and Coulson working on files from Shield. Clint lived for the once or twice a week when Coulson stripped himself down into Phil and sit telling stories and drinking beer with him.

Clint wasn’t thrilled about having to deal with a new person being added to their space. He hadn’t really let himself look at his face in the mirror since he arrived at the tower. He knew his face was disfigured and scarred but he didn’t want to have to deal with pitying looks or feelings from someone. Hell, he could barely make himself go to his appointments each day much less leave the tower and deal with the public.

He watched as the new live in assistant was shown around. He’d had Jarvis display the file for him when he was hired and Clint had to admit on paper he seemed like a good match. He had family who were deaf, had worked as an ASL translator on occasion and was a certified nurse.

Clint knew that the people that mattered like Phil and Natasha wouldn’t even blink at his new scars but even his Physical and Speech Therapists had done a double take the first few times. The new guy was good, Clint saw his eyes go slightly wide when he spotted him on the couch. Phil guided him over introducing Jarvis and explaining how Clint was communicating with a tablet at the moment.

“Clint, this is Richard. He’ll be helping you out during the week while I’m traveling.” Phil said gesturing for Richard to take a seat. Clint gave a vague wave with one cast, tapping a button on his tablet to give a mechanical hello. He’d have to ask later what the cover story was exactly or if the man was read into Shield and the Avengers.

“Nice to meet you, Clint.” Richard said with a small smile, signing as he spoke. Clint noted that his eyes were lingering on his face and neck but he also seemed to wince visibly at the double casts as well.

“Let me show you to the room you’ll be using and get you set up with Jarvis. I’m afraid Clint was more of a cook then I was so we mainly order out for dinner. Do you have any preferences?” Phil said, giving Clint a lingering look as he lead the young man to the spare bedroom. Clint couldn’t decide if it was meant to push him to interact more or to behave, either one would probably have the same result.

“Clint, would you be against Thai?” Phil asked coming back in. “Jarvis can you bring up a menu for somewhere nearby that delivers?”

“Of course, Agent Coulson.” Jarvis said politely as Richard came back into the room.

The meal arrived and they sat at the table with Clint trying not to grimace at the polite conversation happening around him. Phil was using it to fill him in on the cover story, he knew, but it just made him miss their previous meals even more. At least it was only for during the week. He’d be able to look forward to the weekends they had together at least.

“So how exactly did you two rate living in Stark tower? The man is a bit of a legend around town.”

“We’ve both done consulting work for Stark Industries and after Clint’s injury he offered a place to stay.”

“Was he injured on the job?”  
“Yes, but not while working for Stark Industries.” Phil said flatly before changing the topic, “Clint, I spoke with your doctors and they are willing to change you to braces on Monday. They still want you to limit how much you use your hands so no ASL yet, but they Okayed you for swimming.”

“Time limit?” Clint’s tablet asked.

“One hour in the morning, supervised. Your PT should be moving to just working on your hands once the casts are off so you can exercise unassisted if you keep it low key.”

***

Phil left for Shield not long after lunch on Sunday. Clint was trying to not resent his new helper. He still was fighting with buttons and tying his shoes but beyond that he did okay. Phil really had only been helping with a few basic things once he was out of the wheelchair.

He was surprised at how much he missed the quiet companionship of the other Agent. Richard seemed determined to keep him entertained. He chatted, often signing at the same time, while they had a meal and then nonstop until Clint had an appointment or headed to bed. Clint had already pleaded a headache two nights so that he could have a few hours alone in his room to read.

Having the casts off and being allowed the swim definitely helped. Forcing his body through the water for a full hour left him too exhausted to fight the painful PT sessions for his hands. The first session left him curled on the couch until Jarvis managed to convince him to take a pain pill. He had to get Richard to open the bottle for him which somehow just made it worse.

The rest of the week continued in the same pattern. Wake up, swim, PT, lunch and a nap, speech therapy, dinner, rinse, repeat. He still wasn’t back up to anywhere near a normal weight and his muscle tone was shot but he walked on the treadmill and did what exercises the physicians would allow hoping he would slowly build his endurance back up.

He hated feeling this weak and helpless. Phil had a knack of simply having things arranged for Clint’s use without him ever really having to ask for help. He simply was already there helping before he even realized he needed it.

Richard was also nowhere as efficient as Phil could be sadly. Clint nearly went to all his appointments in sweats the first day when he realized that he had to ask Richard to come help get him dressed. Phil must have given the man a basic rundown of the tasks he was expected to do since the man had meals ready and waiting each day. He at least seemed willing to let Clint struggle with things even if he did hover enough to make Clint wish he could curse out loud.

If nothing else his signing would improve since Richard seemed determined to both sign and speak during every conversation. Clint didn’t think he’d been around someone signing this much since he’d been a child. His mother had signed and tried to teach him when she could but it had been sporadic. Barney had learned some basic signs at first but almost never used them since in his eyes Clint could hear with his hearing aids and didn’t need to sign.

“So, are you and Phil together?” Richard asked about halfway through the week when they were relaxing on the couch with a movie playing in the background.

Clint blinked at him in shock for a moment before shaking his head. Why would anyone ever think that they were together? Phil deserved someone so much better than a broken down archer who couldn’t even shoot.

“He’s my boss.” his tablet rattled out.

“But you’re friends, right? Not that many bosses would be willing to move in with an employee and help them with things like this.”

Clint shrugged at that. He was fairly certain Phil was just doing it because Clint had done the same for him while he was in the hospital. Heck, they’d done the same for each other multiple times over the years after missions gone wrong. It didn’t mean anything.

“It just seems a lot for just a friend.”

Clint shrugged again and tapped at his tablet to bring up the book he had been reading. Most friends don’t owe their lives to each other several times over. Most friends haven’t held the other together with their fingers buried in their guts trying to stop them from bleeding to death. Strike Team Delta had gotten protective of its members over the years.

***

Phil made it back to the tower Saturday afternoon. Clint had just finished his second session of PT and was curled in bed waiting for sleep to claim him. Having to get Richard to open his pain meds every time he wanted one was really getting old. He wanted to ask for a handful to just be left on his nightstand or something but he knew that Phil would get that disappointed look that made Clint feel like an utter ass.

The lights blinked, dragging Clint awake with a wince. He fumbled in a hearing aid with a groan. “Jarvis?” he slurred, fighting to get the volume right on the clunky hearing aid, he just didn’t have enough fine motor control yet to be able to use the small ones yet.

“Need help?” Phil asked from the doorway, ignoring the slight flinch it earned him as Clint twisted to watch him move farther into the room. Clint fumbled on his tablet trying to ignore how shaky his hands were.

“I sent Richard home. Did he work out okay?”  
Clint shrugged and went on fighting with the tablet. Finally he gave up and glanced at Phil with a sigh, pointing up.

“Jarvis?” Phil asked taking a seat next to Clint and the tablet he tossed at him.  
“Would you like me to project your notes, Agent Barton?” Jarvis asked. Clint nodded gesturing with one brace at the wall.

“Thank you, Jarvis.” Phil murmured once the large document pulled up.

“If I may, sirs, Agent Barton has been trying to list out the good and bad of each day to keep you up to date. He didn’t want to send you daily updates like I offered since you might be indisposed.”

“You know I don’t mind getting email or even texts on assignment, Clint. I just might not be able to respond.” Phil said with a soft laugh, which he choked off when Clint shakily signed “busy” in ASL.

“You’re allowed to sign?”

Clint wavered one brace in a “sort of” motion.

“Your hands hurt?”

Clint nodded but gestured to the prescription bottle on his night stand.

“Let me know when you want your next dose, maybe after dinner. Have you eaten?”

He shook his head in response, watching with an internal smile was Phil pulled off his tie.

“Any requests? Chinese?” He asked standing and shrugging out of his suit jacket.

He’d already stopped in his bedroom to stow his handgun, Clint noted absently as he followed the older man into the kitchen. Clint shrugged when Phil asked again; he didn’t care what they ate. He struggled his way into a cabinet and juggled the small box of tea he’d had Jarvis order on to the kitchen counter.

“You’re drinking tea?” Phil asked, pausing as he rolled up his sleeves.

Clint tapped his throat with a fingertip and cradled his mug to his chest as he moved it to join the tea bags.

“Do you want honey? It’s supposed to be good for a sore throat.” Phil asked pulling down the brown colored bottle.

Clint shrugged again, sweet was never a bad thing, right?

“Jarvis, can you pull up Clint’s list again and the menu for our favorite Chinese place?”

“Of course, Agent Coulson.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

Clint obligingly pointed out the items he wanted and struggled with the kettle while Phil placed their order. He took the kettle from Clint before he could dump the water all over himself and got it on the stove. Once they both had drinks and the table was set he started going over the document.

“You don’t like Richard.”

Clint rolled his eyes and tapped at his tablet.

“Talks too much.”

“Coming from someone who has driven several handlers crazy about maintaining radio silence I’m not sure how to take that.”

“You don’t mind.”

“You generally have a point to what you’re saying even if you do occasionally do it just to rile up the other members of the team.”

“Makes them pay attention.”

“Which is why I don’t often call you on it.” Phil said with a laugh, sipping at his beer. “Is the tea okay?”

Clint nodded and gave a shaky thumbs up.

“So the PT is helping?”

He nodded again, tapping at his tablet.

“Mission good?”

“Very good. And it was more like missions. We ran three ops, two to three days each. That’s why I was a bit late getting back, extra paperwork.”

“Team okay?”

“Yes, but tired. They get a low key week next week of mostly downtime and paperwork before we head off again next week.”

“Pattern?”

“Not necessarily. We’re taking missions constantly and they’re going on the low key ones without me. The more involved objectives will mean I’m with them on the bus supervising. This was a test run for them with me observing to see if they could handle things.”

“And?”

“And they did well.”

“So, two weeks?”

“The next trip will be in a week if nothing comes up before then. The team will start doing short day trips for the smaller missions.”

Phil went to pick up their Chinese from the lobby while Clint got the music playing and settled onto the couch with a sigh. They fit surprisingly well together considering how different they were. Clint would have made a move on Coulson years ago if he’d thought the man would have ever accepted it. He’d just have to make do with friendship, he reminded himself as Phil came back in with a small smile taking in Clint’s sprawled form.

“Dinner on the couch with a movie?”

Clint blinked at him and pulled himself upright, slowly shaking his head. If he ate on the couch he was going to make a massive mess. He barely could hold a fork much less chopsticks.

“Dinner first, then movie after.” Phil said with a smile, helping him up when Clint faltered. “Thank you for putting on the jazz.”


	5. Chapter 5

Phil let the movie play in the background, content to sit and watch Clint sleep. He’d passed out not long after they finished dinner and settled in to watch the movie. The younger man was sprawled across the large couch, head just brushing Phil’s leg.

It was rare to see the archer this relaxed. He seemed to always be on alert for some kind of attack even when he was in a room full of known friends and coworkers. Sometimes he would relax around Phil and Natasha but it was always fleeting and done more out of exhaustion then a sense of safety.

Phil was surprised at how much he’d enjoyed spending time with Clint. Sure, they’d helped each other over the years and spent downtime together but it was rarely time where they both were able to relax and enjoy themselves. Generally they were at work, on a mission, or talking about work which wasn’t exactly relaxing.

Add in the constant reminder that Phil was two security levels above the archer and his direct supervisor and it was not surprising that he’d never seen him act like he was. Now that Clint had been taken out of that hierarchy he could finally relax around him.

He was surprised at how easily their lives were meshing together. Now that Clint had come out of his bout with depression and gotten over the worst of the pain he was a surprisingly laid back person. Phil could see them settling together surprisingly well, enough so that it startled him at times. It almost felt like they were dating instead of two friends hanging out together.

On missions Clint had been either a ball of twitching energy waiting for the next call or a silent tightened coil, ready to explode into motion at a word. He had always seemed to be eternally prepping for a mission or training. Phil realized that he’d rarely seen the other man in a non-work setting.

Beyond a few rare extended ops Phil realized that he had never really spent a lot of time in the same room as the archer. Normally he was just the voice on the line while Clint was out in his blind. Yes, they snarked at each other over the com lines on occasion but it was mostly to keep them both from giving into exhaustion on long missions. Nothing about it those times had felt as personal as the time they had been spending together since Clint’s recovery.

Clint rolled over and blurrily took in their positions. Phil smiled and nodded when he waved and headed to bed pretending to be absorbed in his book. The worst part was he wasn’t sure that he wanted it to end once Clint no longer needed his help.

***

The next morning they were back to their routine. Phil left for work and Clint went to his rounds of physical therapy, speech therapy, and swimming. He was waiting in the living room for Phil to arrive when the elevator binged and Phil and Pepper Potts strode off chatting happily with each other.

“Clint! It’s good to see you again.” Pepper said coming forward and pulling him into a quick hug making Clint fight against his instinctive need to pull away. He fumbled with his tablet and managed to get it to say a garbled ‘Thank you.’ before he backed a few steps further away.

“I just wanted to come invite both of you to dinner upstairs. I’m afraid we’re only here until tomorrow so I wanted to persuade you personally.” She said smiling her tired smile that she often wore while discussing business. Clint glanced between Phil and Pepper before catching Phil’s eye and plucking at his sweat stained clothes.

“Give us a bit to get cleaned up, Pepper, and we’ll both be right up.” Phil offered tugging at his tie.

“Wonderful, I’ll see you in a bit. It will take that long to get Tony out of the lab again anyway.” She said with a grin, heading to the elevator.

“Tomorrow we’re going out to get you some more clothes.” Phil said with a soft laugh, “For now you have to deal with your purple button down again. Hope you like it.” Clint nodded, tugging on a pair of slacks and his boots before Phil helped him get the shirt on over his braces and an undershirt.

“I know Pepper and Tony don’t care what we’re wearing but it’s the polite thing to do.” Phil said with a sigh, straightening his tie. Clint watched his pull his armor together wishing that they could cancel so that Phil could relax.

“No tie?” He offered from his tablet with a frown.

“Tony will never let it go if I show up without one.” He said with a sigh, “We’ll never hear the end of it for the rest of the night. Are you ready to head up?”

Clint nodded and fell into step behind the older man. He already owed Tony more than he could ever repay just for the room and board, so he wasn’t about to rock the boat but seeing the masks go up as Phil slid back into Coulson made his chest ache. This was supposed to be the one place where they were able to relax without the masks.

The dinner was painful. Few of the dishes had taken into account the lack of dexterity with his injured hands and he spent most of the meal fiddling with things and pretending to eat when he had no way to cut anything. Tony talked nonstop with Pepper and Phil chiming in on occasion but they rarely waited or paused long enough for Clint to type out a response. After a few attempts he sat back and tried to at least look like he was enjoying himself, nodding at the right times with a small painful smile stretching his cheeks.

By the time they finished with after dinner drinks he felt ripped raw. His face and hands pulsed with pain in time to his heartbeat. He managed to let Pepper hug him again without flinching, hiding his shaking hands, but he knew his nightmares were guaranteed to be epic that night.

He let Phil ramble at him as he was helped out of the button down and his boots before he fled to the shower hoping the heat would relax the tension racking his entire body. The next thing he knew he was huddled in a corner of the shower gasping for air and Phil was trying to get him to move. He didn’t have his hearing aids in so it took a while for him to manage to read Phil’s lips.

“Come on soldier, we need to get you cleaned up.” Phil said, his hand rock steady in front of Clint waiting for him to take it. Clint blinked at him unable to unlock his muscles. Phil continued the soft murmur of commands and reminders that he was in the tower, he could stand down now, and the mission was over carefully staying where Clint could easily read his lips.

“Let’s move, Barton. Come on, time to move.” Phil said, breathing out a huff of relief when Clint finally slowly took his hand.

Phil levered him to his feet and tossed a towel around his shoulders, steering him slowing out in to the bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed. Clint started to shake, silent tears streaking down his face as Phil quickly toweled him off and got him into a pair of pajama pants and bundled into bed. Phil managed to get one hearing aid in before he broke down completely.

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s fine.” Phil said grabbing one of Clint’s hands to hold after he’d kept fumbling a hand hold on the blankets wrapped around him.

“I’m not going anywhere. We’re just going to sit here until you’re ready to do something else.” He said pulling the other man against him, ignoring the way his breath hitched and stuttered as he sobbed silently.

Clint shuddered as Phil continued to try and comfort him. He shouldn’t be bothering. Clint was broken, he knew that and now everyone who saw him knew it too. He’d seen the way Tony’s eyes had skipped over his face like it didn’t exist and how Pepper’s had lingered a bit too long. He was damaged goods, broken and tossed out to rot.

He’d be living off his pension from Shield and disability for the rest of his life. No mercenary group or government agency was going to let him be in the field like this. He’d be living in a nursing home if his hands got much worse but he’d shoot himself before that became an option.

Clint had been slowly getting things ready for once his therapy completed. Already his speech therapist was suggesting outpatient visits at the clinic instead of her coming to the tower. He could easily do the same with the physical therapy. The only regret he had was that he would be leaving Phil behind when he left.

He let himself savor the warmth of the older man’s hold and his voice in his ear. He knew it would not, could not last much longer. Eventually even friendship couldn’t bear the strain of such a load. Phil would leave and go back to Shield full time and Clint would be alone.

Barton’s never got what they wanted out of life. That had long ago been etched into his bones as he was betrayed or left to die by everyone he called family. This latest retreat at least made sense.

They thought he was dead, no need reopen old wounds. Natasha might kick up a bit of fuss but she probably would let him be eventually, let him fade away in private instead of in this stupid steel tower where his every breath was recorded.


	6. Chapter 6

Phil watched as Clint slowly locked himself away. Whatever masks they had dropped while Clint healed were back up full force as the archer distanced him from everything. Clint refused any attempt to communicate beyond one word responses, refused to go out at all for any reason beyond his therapy sessions.

He was seriously considering canceling his upcoming missions but having a seemingly depressed friend wouldn’t be good enough for Fury. Reluctantly he left Clint with Richard to watch over him at night with instructions to call Shield if anything at all happened. He even set up an alert with Jarvis in case something went wrong.

He almost was ready to pass it off as paranoia when on the third morning he got an alert from Jarvis that Clint had left the building. He called Richard and was informed that Clint had requested a lunch out. The next day the same thing happened except for dinner. When the third alert came through early the next morning Phil ignored it in favor of finishing up the last of his paperwork. If everything went as planned he’d be back at the tower by Sunday morning at the latest.

He really should have anticipated the text several hours later from Richard. He’d massively overslept (possibly been drugged) and Clint was missing. None of his things appeared to be missing but no one could locate the archer. Clint didn’t return for any of his appointments, nor was he back by dinner.

Phil was mid mission and could not transition to another handler with the team already out in the field. It was another two days before he managed to get back to New York and start investigating where Clint might have gone.

He took out an ad in a local paper, hoping Natasha had time to check for such old school methods. He’d posted a similar ad when he’d been notified about Clint’s recovery. He hadn’t heard a peep from any of the Avengers besides Tony even after he’d sent discrete messages to each of them.

“I know everyone just got off a week of missions but I need your help.”

“What’s up, AC?” Skye asked moving to take a seat on the arm of the couch next to Fitzsimmons.

“The friend who was going to use the hearing aids has disappeared. He’s a former agent and I’m going to need help finding him.”

“We’re going to need some more information if you want us to track someone.” Fitz pointed out, “Plus I’m not sure how much Simmons and I will be able to help considering our specialties.”

“I know, I just think we need an outside perspective. Clint’s never been one to follow the rules and with him on the run he’s going to be more out of the box than usual. I’ve sent his file to your inboxes.”

“Holy shit, we’re looking for Hawkeye?!” Skye gasped, opening the file before he’d even finished the sentence.

“I thought he died?”

“Most of us thought he had, a mission went badly and he was listed as MIA before being declared dead when his dog tags were found in a body dump. Fourteen months after the original mission he was found severely injured in a raid on a small remote Hydra base. He’s been in New York since going through therapy to try and overcome his injuries.”

“How did he go missing this time?”

“I’ve been staying with him when we’re in New York but a health care assistant stays when we’re out on missions. He reported him missing today around noon. Apparently he simply walked out, leaving everything behind, phone, wallet, everything.”

“Where would he normally stay while he was in New York, before the missing in action thing?”

“He had an apartment in town and a safe house out of town but both were cleaned out and sold when he was declared dead. His ex-wife divorced him while he was listed as MIA and he has no family.”

“What about family properties?”

“None that I’m aware of,” Phil said with a frown, “He was orphaned at a young age and his brother died almost ten years ago. I doubt he would have received an inheritance from either death.”

“We can still check. Would his ex-wife take him back in?”

“No, she’s remarried and moved to Florida.” Phil said with a frown, would Clint try and track down Agent Morse?

“What about friends and coworkers.”

“Most of Shield distrusts him after the incident with Loki so few agents would take him in without reporting it. The Avengers might but all of them are out of contact right now and I can’t see him running to Brazil to try and track down Banner.”

“What about Stark, he was the one building hearing aids for the man. Would he help him out?”

“He’s been staying at Stark tower and Stark was funding most of his recovery and treatment. He left all the technology that Stark had designed for him behind so I’m not sure that he’d be running from the tower just to meet Stark in Malibu.”

“You said he was recovering. What condition is he in? How far could he get if pressed?”

“He’s completely mobile and getting back into form. His hands, voice, and hearing are the main issues. He uses hearing airs but his face and neck were badly scarred and it affected his voice. He’s been going to speech therapy but I’ve almost never heard him say anything beyond mumbles while he’s sleeping.”

“You said his hands are messed up. The file makes it look like he’s going to be in rehab for a long time recovering his dexterity.”

“Right now he has limited fine motor control; he can pick thing up if they’re light and easy to hold but can’t really write or type beyond basic one finger pecking.”

“So he could open doors and handle money with no issue?”

“Yes, why?” Phil asked slowly.   
“I have a guy matching his description getting on a train around seven am that morning. He was headed toward the Midwest. I can’t find him getting off at his stop and I’m running a search at the previous stops to see if he got off early.”

“If it is Clint then he has a two day lead and we need to catch up. He’s good at going to ground and I don’t want to lose him.”

“You might not have to. I just found a deed in his father’s name in Iowa. Looks like an old farm house and some land.” Skye said tossing the information up on projector screen on the wall across from them.

“What town?’

“Waverly, Iowa.”

“That’s where Clint grew up. He might not want to go back there; he didn’t have the best childhood.” Phil said with a frown, should he waste the time heading to Iowa when Clint might not even be there?

“It doesn’t mean you can’t check. I can keep searching while you check the house. If you find anything or not we can move on to the next lead once you call in.”

“Fine, I’ll check the farm. The rest of you keep looking, for now this is our top priority. Call me if you find anything or if any more information surfaces.”

“You got it, A.C.”

The farm was uninhabitable when Phil arrived; the roof caved in and layers of decay and dust showing that no one but a few mice had been inside in decades. They had hit a dead end and he just had to hope that Clint was doing okay on his own. He didn’t know if he was going to beat him senseless or pin him against a wall and kiss that wounded mouth until neither of them could breathe when he got the idiot back.

***

Clint had spent the last three weeks trying to get some distance between himself and New York. He’d set up a fake trail at the train station before ducking off the train and heading for the highway and its nearby truck stops. It took a bit of his money but he caught a ride with a trucker headed south.

He changed trucks a few times not really caring where they were headed as long as he got farther from New York. He wandered around few small towns before getting a ride to a larger city, always heading further west and south. He’d laughed, raw and painful when he reached Malibu, no one would think to look for him in Stark’s backyard.

He spent his time living on the streets. The small amount of money he’d started out with was almost gone so he started begging for change in the parks. He still had a bit of pride left; he sat with a hat in front of him but never asked for a dime outright. Not that they could have understood him anyway, his voice was still fucked, coming out broken and slurred like he was drunk.

He didn’t want to take food from those who actually needed it so he was trying to avoid the shelters and soup kitchens. At least the weather was holding so that sleeping outside wasn’t an issue. He had no real supplies if it got wet or cold, no sleeping bag or camping gear. He’d run with just the clothes on his back and hadn’t gathered much since.

With no sense of purpose or direction he wandered around eating maybe once a day and sleeping rough. All too soon he looked exactly like the homeless person he’d become, he doubted any of the Avengers would take a second glance at him in passing.

Three months later he’d gotten a small job as a janitor at a tiny café. He came in after they closed to mop and do dishes for minimum wage but it was enough to get him one hot meal a day and a tiny closet of a room to sleep in. It was enough to let him coast through his days mind blank and body moving.

He’d come into the café a little early hoping to get a meal ducking into a back booth when he heard a voice he hadn’t in years. A young woman, almost a teenager was bouncing around chastising her for not ordering a plate to go. Melinda May scanned the room as she corrected the girl on the number of to go coffees needed.

“Excuse me, Ma’am? Do you know the guy in the back?”

“Oh, you have to excuse him. That’s Sam, he cleans the place when we close, he’s a little early today, probably wanted to catch dinner. He’s harmless. We get a lot of homeless around here with how mild the winters are.”

“Did you know he used to be military?”

“Yes, Army, it’s where he got the scars, poor thing. He can barely talk and mostly uses notes. Let me see what he needs.” The waitress said.

She bustled over to him and loudly questioned the man. He scratched something out on a piece of ragged notebook paper letting the woman read it before crumpling it into a ball. He sat slumped in the booth, eyes downcast and exhaustion filling his face. May looked him over one more time before she turned to help carry their order.

“Did you recognize him from somewhere?” Skye asked, sipping at her coffee while juggling a tray of cups.

“No, he just looked familiar. Let’s get back, Coulson going to be wondering what took us.”

“Yeah.”

Clint watched them go with a sigh; he drank his cup of coffee until the shop closed. He quickly cleaned the shop leaving a note for the owners saying he was heading home for the holidays. It was only a week until Christmas so it made as good of an excuse as any.

Ducking out of the building he grabbed his backpack and started walking. If he was lucky he might be able to make another state or two if he got a ride. Maybe he should head toward the Midwest; he’d avoided it on principle since he’d grown up there, nothing but bad memories.

Two days later Clint had dyed his beard and hair dark brown and managed to make his way to Iowa thanks to a friendly trucker. Hitchhiking got him as close to the farm as he was likely to get. It took him another two days of walking and hitching to get there. Taking in the collapsed house he wheezed with laughter, it looked as bad as he did.

Inside he found a dry corner to collapse into and finally let himself sleep. He spent the next few days trying to decide where to go. New York had been home for so long that nowhere else truly called to him. Phil was clearly still traveling with his team if May was making his coffee runs.

Could he risk going back to New York? He’d have to risk using an old safe house if the shelters were full like they tended to be in the winter. He knew Phil was still looking for him even if the rest of the world had left him for dead. Did he want to risk the chance of Phil finding him?

The cold bit at his hands and he was not relishing roughing it in New York but he’d risk the exposure and frost bite if it meant he got to see Phil one last time. He was used up and burnt down to ash; it was time to wrap things up. He’d get one final glance at Phil and then find somewhere quiet to end it.


	7. Chapter 7

Clint fiddled with the clunky hearing aids he’d gotten at a cheap clinic in New Mexico. Most of his money from the café had went to buying batteries and he was down to his last pair. He hadn’t been able to find work since he’d arrived in New York. He was worn thin and no one at the job lots for illegals would even look at him.

His hands ached badly enough for him to idly wish he could just cut them off. The cold seemed to seep into the joints and tendons locking them tight to the bone until he could barely move his fingers when he woke up each morning.

He was hoping today would be the day. There had been a battle downtown and he’d heard that Shield and the Avenger’s handler were still there cleaning up. He just wanted to see Phil one last time. To see how the man was doing before Clint took himself out of the equation.

It was surprisingly easy to duck past the police and Shield agents watching the perimeter. Clint wanted to be high watching him but didn’t trust his hands to work well enough to make a climb so he was stuck scuttling through the rubble at street level. He ducked into an alley way as several Shield agents as they wandered past talking about the attack.

“What the hell crawled up Coulson’s butt and died?”

“What you haven’t been working the Avengers missions have you?”  
“No, what the hell happened? I was waiting for the team to turn on him and take him out instead.”

“He’s been like that for months, straight policy without an inch of give.” The agent said with a bitter snort, “The rumor is that he’s going to either get a forced retirement soon or die of a heart attack at his desk.”

Clint made it another two blocks before he found him. Shield Agent Phillip Coulson was in his element quietly calming down a witness as he passed the older woman off to a medic. He was back on his handheld as soon as he was handed off coordinating the next step of clean up barking out orders with a frown as he scanned the debris littered street before him.

Clint settled into his spot near the mouth of an alley drinking in the sight. To Clint’s eyes the man looked amazing but he’d always thought that. He couldn’t stop his eyes from pointing out the differences in this Phil and the one he had left behind.

Phil frankly looked exhausted, dark circles and wane stubble marked cheeks. He was wearing his usual suit but had forgotten his black wool coat and the icy wind had to be going straight through him. He scrubbed a hand through is thinning hair as Clint watched snarling something into the radio before starting to stalk down the street heading towards Clint.

He shifted farther back but kept Phil in his sights, he didn’t like what he saw. Phil looked worn out and angry, furious and bitter with the world around him. Phil had always taken pride in his appearance but now it was clear he wasn’t taking care of himself. Clint froze as Phil passed but the man’s eyes were sharp as ever, catching the movement as Clint eased himself farther back into the alley.

“Sir, you can’t be here right now. You need to head back to the barriers.” Phil called out stopping as Clint waved him off and started a weaving walk back down the alley like he was just another homeless drunk.

Phil thankfully let him be after calling for another agent to come get the bum out of the alley on Price Street. Clint was long gone by the time the agent got there and started searching. He made his way to the park he’d been staying at for the last few weeks and settled against a tree to try and soak up some sun and stay out of the wind while he thought things though. Phil looked like he needed help but Clint was helpless to do anything. If he revealed himself they’d be right back where they had been before with Phil taking care of a helpless man. Clint refused to burden Phil that way again. He kept rolling things around in his head hoping for a way out as the sun sank lower.

***

Phil Coulson headed back to the tower exhausted and more than ready for his bed. He knew he was on his way out and had several copies of a resignation letter sitting on his desk signed and ready to be sent at the end of the month. He just had no idea what to do once he left Shield. Melinda May had taken over the bus team while he had lead the search for Clint a second time.

Six months into Clint being missing he’d been reassigned to the Avengers to work as their liaison with Shield. All of them had hated the assignment. Natasha was mourning Clint all over again having just found out he was alive only to lose him again. Steve, Tony, and Bruce honestly hadn’t known him enough to really see the loss and their indifference rubbed Phil wrong. He felt like he was missing part of his heart, like losing Clint again had broken something in him that he couldn’t repair.

Something about the bum that had been watching him at the scene was bothering him however. He was certain he knew the man from somewhere but couldn’t but his finger on it. He had a small aching in the pit of his stomach that he knew exactly who it was but he honestly hoped he was wrong. He heaved a sigh but hit the elevator button to take him to Stark’s lab, this was going to be painful.

“Well, if it isn’t Agent Agent. How can I help the government stooge today?” Tony drawled from where he was buried up to his elbows in the inner workings of his suit.

“I need to borrow Jarvis for something if you’re willing. It won’t take but a moment of his time.”

“Nope, if you’re using J-man then you’re doing it right here where I can watch.”

“Fine,” Phil said fighting not to snap at the man as he went back to tinkering.

“How can I assist you, Agent Coulson?” Jarvis asked, polite as ever.

“Can you pull up a headshot of Clint Barton before he left?”

“Of course, Agent Coulson. Is this sufficient?” Jarvis asked, a holographic projection of Clint, thick white ropes of scar tissue marring his face and neck.

“Wonderful, Jarvis.” Phil said with a frown, “Can you make him thinner, more worn down and add a beard?”

“Now lengthen his hair and beard and add grey.”

Phil looked at the new image and cursed, it had been Clint in the alley, just as he’d feared. He’d walked right past him, brushing him off as just another wandering homeless bum who as moving to stay warm.

“Jarvis, can you search the footage of the attack today for that man?”

“One moment, sir.” Jarvis murmured as he started processing.

“Wait a minute, you think you found Clint?” Tony said shoving away from his desk.

“More like he found me,” Phil said giving in and loosening his tie, “He was watching me during the cleanup. I thought he was just a wandering bum and sent an agent to round him up. The agent never found him.”

“And you connected a random bum with Clint?”

“Possibly, he looked familiar.” Phil huffed, shifting to lean one hip against a table, god he was tired.

“Sirs, I expanded the search when I could not find any images of a similar man in the vicinity of the attack. I did however find two short videos of the man when he was forced to cross streets to get to a local park. I backtracked and found that he has been using this park every night for the past two months.”

“Are we certain it’s Clint?”

“No.” Phil said softly, his gut was pushing him to take off running toward the park at top speed but he didn’t want to scare the man away again either.

“I cannot get a clear enough image to run facial recognition, sir.”

“So do we go check him out or what, Agent?”

“No, we keep watch. Clint left for a reason and I don’t want to scare him away as soon as we find him by pushing him to come back too soon.”

“If it’s even Clint.”

“That’s what we have to prove. Jarvis can you keep scanning the city and track his movements for now?”

“Of course, sir. Would you like me to alert you once he begins moving?”

“Please. I appreciate your assistance on this.”

“Do you want to keep this quiet until we know more or let the team know?”

“Let’s leave it until the morning. Let everyone sleep off the mission before we give them false hope.”

“And if that is him?”

“Then we bring him in.”

“You said it yourself, Agent, he ran for a reason. Are we going to be able to hold him without making him a prisoner if he doesn’t want to be here?”

“I have no idea.” Phil said gathering up his coat. “We don’t even know why he ran in the first place, Stark.”

“Then we’re going to have to ask, aren’t we.”

“Yes, we are.”

***

Clint coughed and shivered as he forced himself to crawl out of his warm shelter and into the biting wind. It was promising rain today and he would need a better place to sleep if he didn’t want frost bite. His lean-to did okay in the cold and snow but it wasn’t water tight.

He’d avoided even the dumpiest of his safe houses and bolt holes in town afraid that the team had them bugged but if the storm the radio was promising hit he might need to use on. He was a little extra leery of connecting himself back to anything associated with Clint Barton. He’d felt eyes on him whenever he left the park and his instincts had saved him too many times for him to ignore it now.

He ignored the fashionable business people going about their day as he wove his way deeper into town, moving away from the more respectable areas and towards the docks. He shuffled his way along ignoring the rich scents of coffee and the steam rising from the cups of passing people. He hadn’t eaten more than a few bites all week and was starting to feel the lack as he forced himself to keep moving.

He lingered around the warehouse district trying to catch his tail and keeping a discrete eye on the workers who passed his bolt hole. No one gave him a second look as long as he kept moving, nothing to see here, just another bum out for a walk. A couple of the older workers offered him a few dollars for a meal but he turned with down as politely as he could, he needed to think right now, not eat.

He wandered until the rain started pelting down so hard you could barely see before he darted into the tiny hole he’d made in the side of a warehouse years ago. He was soaked to the skin as he climbed slowly into the tiny attic space he’d claimed as his own. He’d found the place while working as an assassin and only used it a handful of times over the years but it was still sound enough to keep out the weather and get him dry.

Clint stripped down slowly, shivering as he pulled out the hidden package of supplies, thankfully not eaten by rats. It took him a long time to fight off the heavy plastic with his hands but eventually he had a warm change of clothes that hung off his too thin frame, boots, several expired MREs that he set to one side and a heavy Kevlar lined jacket. He shoved the weapons to the side for now; his hands wouldn’t even be able to use the gun anyway.

He ripped into an MRE and poured in some of the rainwater he’d collected to one side. Once the chemical pack got it above lukewarm he started eating, forcing himself to sip at the bland chicken noodle soup while he rolled his options around. He wanted to see Phil again, make sure he really was doing okay.

Clint couldn’t wrap his head around why Phil was doing so badly. He’d been worn down when he left from taking care of Clint, he’d needed to get back to his regular life but that hadn’t seemed to have helped. Gone was the smiling man after hours who’d liked whiskey and jazz. Only Coulson was left and Clint had no idea how to fix that.

Phil should have perked up even more once Clint was gone. He should have gone back to his job with the kids on the Bus and enjoyed it. Taking care of Clint had just been a short break anyway, this way he wasn’t burdened by a crippled archer taking him away from what he’d loved.

Clint didn’t know what to do with this worn and bitter version of the man he’d known. His leaving should have helped, not broken the man he’d loved for years. Clint had never been good for the people he’d been around. From his parents, brother, Barbara, heck even Natasha had been hurt at times because of him.

He hurt those around him and got hurt in return when they abandoned him. He’d just been the one to walk away first this time which should have saved both of them the pain. Instead it seemed to have backfired leaving Clint hurt and alone while Phil was slowly falling apart.

If he went back they would be right back to where they’d been with Phil taking care of Clint and him not being able to do anything in return. If he stayed away then Clint could take himself out of the equation and let Phil live his life but there was no guarantee that it would get better for him and Clint only wanted the best for Phil.

He’d give himself a week, he decided, a week to try and help Phil from a distance to see if he was even able to make a difference. If it turned out to be hopeless then he’d come back for his gun but until then he’d see what he was able to do. Time to do some more reconnaissance; he’d been avoiding the part of town where Stark tower sat for weeks now but he needed to see Phil outside of missions to see how he really was.

His main problem was that a bum couldn’t go into the places that Phil was going. Even if he went to the bar Phil liked he’d be refused entrance on his smell alone. He needed to get cleaned up and change his appearance if he could. He had the money from his emergency pack, more than enough to get a cheap hotel for a week and to get some small things.

***

“I am still analyzing the footage, sir but no one of that description has left the warehouse district in the last twenty four hours.” Jarvis said, sounding deeply apologetic.

“So he’s still there?” Tony asked, fiddling with a armored glove.   
“I am currently running facial recognition analysis however it will take more time considering the patchy coverage of video cameras in that area.”

The rest of the team was silent, ranged around the workshop fiddling with tablets and phones while they waited. They had been informed of what was going on when Bruce and Steve demanded to know why Tony and Phil were holed up in the workshop. Natasha had left to do her own reconnaissance while the rest tried to help where they could.

“Sir, there is a call from Agent Romanov.”

“Put her on, Jarvis.”  
“Stark, I found his bolt hole. It was inside the ceiling of one of the warehouses. It looks like he stayed the night and changed here.”

“Any clues if it’s Barton or not?”  
“It’s not one of the hides that I knew about but it’s set up similar to how he would have built one. He bagged all the trash but left two guns and ammo along with most of his old clothes, I’d say.”

“Can you confirm it’s Barton?”  
“Not definitely,” she said with a sigh, “Most snipers set up their blinds in a similar way and there’s nothing to point him out specifically.”

“Alright, where are you headed next?”

“Until we get a direction from Jarvis I’m headed back to the tower. There’s nothing more to see here until we know where he’s going.”

“Alright, Jarvis, let’s change the search parameters. Let’s look for a man with military clothing or carrying a black bag or backpack leaving the warehouse district.”

“Starting the new search now, sir.” Jarvis said softly as a new screen came up to one side cycling through different feeds and photos.

“I have a possible match using the new search parameters.” Jarvis said ten minutes after Natasha had rejoined them.

“This man left the warehouse district the morning after the rainstorm by a different route then our original suspect. He headed to the seedier part of downtown and got a room at a small establishment. He has since been spotted around town in several shopping centers purchasing new clothes. He has cleaned up considerably and shortened his beard and hair. He appears to have abandoned the homeless act and is now acting like a blue collar office worker since he has purchased several low to middle grade suits and other business attire.”

“Why would he need to fit in with the business class?” Phil muttered watching the grainy footage Jarvis was attempting to clean up. “Has he been spotted in any areas where that kind of attire would be appropriate?”

“Wait a minute; you said you saw him the first time while you were working the attack, right?” Steve asked, glancing between Phil and the screens.

“Yes, why?”

“What if he came back to check on you?” Steve asked, “A bum isn’t going to be able to follow a Shield agent around town but a businessman would blend in for the most part.”

“It’s a possibility but why would Barton return after running for over a year only to spend his time tailing Agent?”

“Because he’s finally made up his mind,” Natasha said watching Phil sharply, “and his decision rests with Coulson somehow.”

“What decision would that be, exactly?” Tony asked sounding exasperated, “We don’t even know why he ran in the first place.”

“Clint’s always been one to run when he wasn’t sure what to do and he felt cornered. If it is him and he’s come back then he’s made his decision and is just tying up loose ends.”

“Loose ends? You’re making it sound like he came back to die.” Steve said frowning.

“It’s what I would have done.” She said with a shrug, “He’s crippled and unable to contribute in his eyes.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“I know he’s spent his entire life working, pushing to be the best at everything he does. He pushes constantly to be the best and now he’s nothing. He’s a sniper so he understands getting some distance and waiting for the right moment. If he’s back then he’s decided it’s the right time to do so and is just waiting for the final command to pull the trigger.”

“You think he’s waiting on a sign to kill himself.” Phil said slowly.

“It’s what I would do.” She said simply giving Phil’s shoulder a squeeze as she passed, “I’m going back out.”

“Where are you going?” Steve asked looking like he wanted to follow.

“If he’s doing this like a sniper I might have a chance of catching up to him. I’ll check in if I have any updates.”

“Stay safe.” Phil said watching her walk away, if anyone could find Clint right now it would be Natasha, they’d always understood each other on a level that Phil had envied.

“Always.”


	8. Chapter 8

Clint trailed Phil for the rest of the week learning his schedule and watching from a distance. He’d seen a few of the others from the team around Phil and the tower as he traveled but mostly he seemed to work alone. He must have been taken off the bus team, Clint mused as he followed a few blocks behind Phil as he headed to a meeting at SI’s headquarters deep in the business district.

Phil looked even more exhausted as the week progressed, clearly not getting the sleep he needed. His suit was rumbled and he looked like he’d slept at his desk considering his disheveled hair today. Was no one taking care of the man?

He made his way to an internet café while he waited on Phil’s next appointment. He didn’t bother doing much to hide his trail beyond asking Jarvis to not inform Phil that he was back. The email was mostly things that Jarvis and the others in the tower needed to watch out and do for Phil, reminders of the small things that Natasha liked and the small dates that they had always celebrated over the years.

Someone needed to watch out for the remaining member of his team and Jarvis was his best bet to actually pay enough attention to know when to act when Clint was gone. The file ended up being a bit of a last will and testament where Clint listed out the accounts and safe houses he had around the world for the others to do with as they wished. He finished it up asking for Jarvis to take care of everyone since no one else ever seemed to.

With a nod, he sent off the message and walked out of the café. He hadn’t been able to spot a live tail but he’d noted the cameras that followed him at times. Jarvis at least was keeping an eye out even if the rest of the team seemed happy enough with him gone.

Hopefully his message would get Phil some help; Clint had done all he could. He was just so tired of everything, tired of the pain, loneliness, and cold. He was tired of seeing everyone around him getting on with their lives while he was just struggling to breathe.

He caught a cab and gave the cabbie every dime he had to get him as close to the nearest trailhead as he could. He’d walk until he couldn’t anymore and if he was lucky maybe he’d find a good tree to curl up under. The cab carried him out of the city, suburbs, and deep into the trees before pulling over at a bare patch of earth heading deeper into the woods.

“You sure about this, dude? The weather forecast is looking nasty for the weekend and you don’t have any gear.”

“I’m good.” Clint mumbled, pushing the money into the guy’s hands and walking off.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt, man!”

He waved off the cabbies concerned shouts and kept moving pocketing his hearing aids, eyes searching the tree line more out of training then need. He only had eyes for the horizon and the slowly dipping sun. He never heard the motorcycle that pulled up just as the cab was pulling away.

***

Natasha questioned the cabbie before waving him on. He didn’t know who his fare had been but he was glad someone was looking out for the guy. She dug out her Stark phone glad that it’s never ending reception worked even in the middle of nowhere.

“Phil, I think you need to get up here.”

“We just got a message from Clint; Jarvis traced it back to the café you were watching. It’s definitely him.”

“Well, he just took a cab to the middle of nowhere and is heading into the mountains still wearing his suit.”

“He didn’t take any gear with him, did he?”

“No.”

“Keep an eye on him. I’m on my way.”

***

Clint walked all day. He followed the trail until he came to a high stone bluff. He climbed as high as he could get and sat watching the sun go down with a sigh, here was as good a place as anywhere to die. He was going to miss Phil and Natasha. At least his note would make sure they took care of each other hopefully.

He blinked sleepily at Natasha when she took a seat next to him just as the sun was making its final decent. It figures she would be the one to try and stop him when he’d been the one to pull her out of her own final show down and bring her into Shield. She hands him a new pair of hearing aids without a word when he finally turns to look at her.

“Figures it would be you.” He slurs once the devices were in and turned up.

“You wouldn’t let me go out, why should I let you.” Natasha said with a shrug.

“You had more left to give, I’m done.” He said turning back to the sunset.

“You know that’s not true.”

“My voice is gone, my hands are gone. I can’t do shit. What the hell do I have left to do?”

“I still need you, Phil needs you.”

“You’re both doing okay.”

“Phil’s not, I know you saw that. I’ve been working but nothing’s been the same since you disappeared. I learned you were alive only to lose you all over again. Phil lost you all over again. He’s not doing okay, Clint.”

“He will, I sent a note to Jarvis, he’ll make sure Phil’s okay. He’ll remember to see him.”

“I see him. I see you.” She reminded him gently.

“The rest of the team doesn’t. Do you see how they walk all over him? He’s busting his ass and they whine about doing their jobs.” He said with a snort, curling in on himself.

“They got used to having his support.”

“They’re using him.”

“Like we did?” She said shifting so that they were pressed together shoulder to hip watching the last of the light die.

“We didn’t use him, Phil’s family.”

“If Phil’s family then why did you run from him?”

“Because I was bringing him down, he didn’t need me stumbling along after him, keeping him busy when he could be having a life.”

“We were his life, Clint. You were his life and he lost that when you left.”

“I was hurting him, I could see it.” Clint snapped burying his face in his knees.

“I was hurting myself, Clint.” Phil said stepping out of the shadows. “You gave me the strength to keep going. I was about to quit Shield when they found you, I stayed to make sure you were taken care of. Then when you left I stayed to keep hunting you.”

“You wanted to leave Shield.” Clint repeated dumbly, that couldn’t be right, there wasn’t a Shield without Phil.

“They abandoned you,” Phil said with a shrug, “I couldn’t stomach working there after that.”

“I thought you were doing better with the new team. You seemed happy.”

“No, the only times I was happy was when I was spending time with you. I didn’t realize how much of my happiness was having you in my life until you went missing. I’ve been kicking myself ever since for not saying something sooner but I wanted you to be in a good place when I asked you to stay.”

“I thought I was hurting you, making things worse by staying.”

“No, you were the only good thing I had to hang on to.” Phil said dropping down to sit on Clint’s other side.

“I don’t know if I can stay.”

“Will you at least try? Try and if you need to run tell me, we’ll go where ever you need to go.”

“You have the team, they need you here.”  
“The team can learn to do without me. You’re the one who said they were using me. Maybe it’s time they learned how much I really do for them.”

“You’d really just leave?”  
“If that’s what you need. I’m not letting you go now that I have you back, Clint. Never again.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, I’m nothing.”

“Idiot,” Natasha said softly, bumping him with her shoulder, “You were always the glue that kept us together. The others need to realize that we come as a package deal, we always have.”

“You can’t leave the team, Nat. They need you too much.”

“You didn’t say anything about Shield.” She pointed out with a shark’s grin.

“Yeah, well we all know Fury’s a liar. Maybe I’m tired of being lied to.”

“Maybe we all are.” Phil said softly, reaching for one of Clint’s hands and gently rubbing the scared and misshapen thing.

“What do you want from me?”

“Whatever you can give, Clint. I want you by my side, however you can be there.”

“As what? A partner, asset, boyfriend?”

“We can figure out the title as we go.”

“The rest of the team knows I’m here, don’t they.”

“There’s the hawk we’ve been missing.” Natasha teased gently, “I can make them back off if you need it.”

“I’m not doing too great with being touched right now.”

“Alright, we can work on that.” Phil said with a nod, standing and pulling Clint up with him, “I have two questions.”

“Alright.”

“One, are you okay with returning to the tower for tonight? I will have to get a few things from there before we leave.”

“Yeah, don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay if they start acting weird.” Clint said with a huff letting himself lean against Phil for a long moment before he straightened up.

“Let me deal with the team.” Natasha said tugging him back against her for a lightning fast hug.

“Okay, question two. Do you want to walk back or can I get a Quinjet to land nearby?”

“Quinjet.” Clint said with a sigh, fighting the urge to sag against the nearest tree.

What seemed like only minutes later he was bundled into the jet and settled back against Phil as they flew back to the tower. He tried to ignore the team as he stumbled out onto the landing pad. Natasha moved to intercept them even as Phil guided him straight past them and into the elevator over the loud objections from Tony behind them.

“You can talk to him tomorrow, Stark.” Natasha snapped darting into the elevator as it started to close.

“Are you hungry?” Phil asked as he helped him off the elevator and onto his floor.

“Tired.”

“Alright, a shower and bed. I expect you to eat breakfast.” Natasha said firmly striding into the bedroom to start getting things set up to her exacting specifications.

“I am glad to have you back, Master Barton. Please let me know if there is anything you need.” Jarvis said softly as Phil grabbed several bottles of water and tugged Clint towards the bedroom he’d used before.

“Thanks, Jarvis.” Clint slurred, stumbling after Phil.

Natasha took the water and put it on the night stand before turning back to adding extra blankets to the bed. Phil led him into the bathroom and got Clint to a bench in the shower before starting to help the man out of his soiled suit.

“Strange to see you in a tie.” Phil murmured helping Clint out of the jacket.

“Reminded me of you.”

“It’s a nice tie.” Phil agreed softly setting the tie to one side.

He helped Clint strip to his skin frowning at how skinny he was. It was going to take a long time to get Clint back from this set back but between the three of them he was sure it would happen eventually. Clean and almost asleep on his feet, Phil toweled him off lightly, helping him into a pair of too big sweat pants that they had to roll to keep up.

Clint watched the man he’d loved for years taking care of him in a daze. He crawled into the waiting bed, Natasha and Phil bracketing him like they were on an op waiting on extraction. This he remembered, this was familiar he mused, having Phil wrap his arms around him and pull him firmly against his side was new but he wasn’t going to complain.

The next morning he woke still cocooned in warm bodies and blankets. Phil nudged him up until he was resting propped against his chest. He sipped at the water offered and ate the bites of cheese and apple offered without a fight simply turning away from the next offering when he was full and snuggling back down against Phil’s side, hands plucking at the worn tee shirt he was wearing fitfully until sleep reclaimed him.

The repeated this cycle a few times before he had to force himself out of the wonderful warmth and to the bathroom. Phil set a smaller set of sweats out for him to change into and left him to it. Once he’d fought with the clothes and vaguely brushed his teeth and hair he wandered out of the bedroom and out onto his floor. Natasha was doing Katas to one side while Phil bustled around the kitchen cooking something.

“Come have a seat.” Phil said softly pouring out a glass of orange juice and setting it on the bar.

“What do you want to eat?” Natasha asked softly as she started setting the table while Clint wavered to one side.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“If I pick I’m going to force you to eat it.” Natasha said with an evil grin.

“You would.” He said with a snort forcing himself to slump into a barstool, it took way to much effort not to set his head on the table.

“No weapons or bloodshed at the table.” Phil said with his normal unnatural timing, setting a plate with several tiny silver dollar pancakes, an egg, and a strip of bacon in front of Clint.

Clint looked at the perfect meal frozen. His breath caught in his chest and he suddenly was fleeing, half falling from the chair in his haste to get away. He hit the nearest wall and curled around himself shaking, it was all too much.

“Easy, Hawk.” Natasha murmured crouching near him but not blocking his lines of sight or escape.

“You don’t have to do everything at once, Clint.” Phil said softly from his spot in the kitchen, “Do you want to go back to bed?”

“You made breakfast.” Clint chocked out while he worried at his hands, twisting the bent fingers.

“That doesn’t mean you have to eat it. If you drink something we can go to bed. I’m sure Jarvis wouldn’t mind cueing up a movie for us to watch.”

“I’m not sick.” He slurred, stuttering out the words, they only did shit like that when one of them was in medical for too long.

“No, you’re injured and worn down. You need to rest and if it means we spend the rest of the month in bed then that’s what we do.” Phil said with a sigh turning away to start putting up the food.

“You don’t have a mission?” Clint finally asked looking at Natasha, she’d always hated forced downtimes.

“Rogers and I took down the last of the Red Room and brought in the Winter Soldier. I’m pretty sure I can ask for anything and they’ll agree right now, Hawk.”

Clint blinked at her stupidly, his chest ached because he should have been there to help watch her back, not in a prison cell while she took on her past. He felt the tears well in his eyes and couldn’t stop the first sob as it shook his frame. Natasha pulled him against her and let him shake to pieces against her.

When he finally started to wind down she wiped his face with a warm washcloth and they bundled him back into bed. An old movie started on one wall and Clint curled himself against Phil as the shivers slowly abated.

“Tell me what you need, Hawk.” Natasha said softly as she tucked herself along his back.

“Don’t know what you want.”

“We want to see you well and happy again. We want to stay at your side.”

“I’m not good to be with.”

“Then you will have to learn to be. Were you happy before when you stayed with Phil?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we will be happy again.”

“Promise?”

“For you? Always.” She said pressing a kiss to his forehead, “Just think, you’ll even get to kiss Phil whenever you want.”

“You want to kiss me?” Clint muttered glancing up at Phil in shock.

“For quite a few years now.” Phil said with a slow smile, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes?”

Phil ducked down and pressed a sweet chaste kiss to Clint’s chapped lips. Clint shivered and pressed his face into Phil’s chest when it was over, fighting not to start crying again.

“I don’t get to keep good things.” He gasped, fighting to get his hands to work enough to pull Phil tighter against him.

“This time you do.” Phil said holding him back just as tight. “You’ve got me and Natasha for as long as you’ll have us. Longer probably since I have no intention of ever letting you go.”

***

His recovery is slow with too many things suddenly sending him retreating in panic. The day he comes out of the bathroom cleanly shaven and hair trimmed Phil rewards him with a kiss that goes on and on until Clint is forced to break away desperate for air and space. Natasha looks on with a smirk from where she’s cleaning her bites on the coffee table.

He stumbles to the couch and curls in one corner letting the scent of gun oil and the steady click of weapons being assembled calm him. All too often a gentle touch will set off memories of his year in a Hydra cell sending him scrambling away but today he’s able to keep himself together. All of them have nightmares and now that Clint’s starting to recover they spend hours at night talking when one of them wakes up hands up and weapons ready.

The other Avengers come by once a week or so but mostly they’re left alone to heal. Twice Natasha has tried to get Clint out of the tower only for him to have a panic attack in the elevator. He works out in the gym and watches Natasha from the gallery seats above the range but can’t make himself go in.

He’s healing but it’s in tiny increments. His year living homeless damaged him so soon after his captivity and he’s willing to admit he might never completely get over his injuries. He’s starting to think he might be okay with that.

Phil and Natasha are still helping out with the Avengers but on a much lighter schedule. Shield started kicking up a fuss about Natasha’s leave after two weeks and she had way too much fun telling Hill to fuck off on the bridge of the Helicarrier. Fury had simply looked on with a frown before giving Phil a nod and walking away.

The Avengers had their first battle since he’d returned that night and Clint watched the feeds hating that he wasn’t out there to watch their backs. When Phil returned he jerked him down on top of him kissing him like he was trying to climb inside his skin. Natasha laughed softly and left them to it, heading into the bedroom to take a shower.

“Can I ask what prompted that?” Phil panted when they finally broke apart.

“I knew you were fine but, I couldn’t be sure until you go back.” Clint said moving down to mouth at his neck and jaw.

“You were worried.”

“Yes.” Clint said sighing and pulling away, “Was, was it like that when I left?”

“The entire time you were missing.” Phil said reaching out and tugging Clint back against him so he could wrap his arms around him. “I knew you couldn’t be dead, you were too good. You had to be out there somewhere waiting for your chance to get back.”

“I wasn’t.” Clint said thickly, “I stopped trying after they fucked up my hands.”

“But you didn’t give up, you came back to me eventually. That’s enough for me.” He said pressing a kiss to Clint’s temple.

“Do we need to start leaving ties on doorknobs or something?” Natasha asked with a grin when she came out to them exchanging gentle kisses on the couch.

“You do have a room you’re welcome to use.” Phil said mildly twitching when Clint bit at the thumb he’d run over his kiss swollen lips.

“Very well, the bed is yours tonight. I’ll see you in the morning, Hawk.”

“Night, Nat.” Clint mumbled watching as she walked away.

“Want to move this to the bedroom?”

“Yeah.” Clint said with a sigh stretching and trying not to groan when Phil rolled off of him.

“Come on Hawk, bed.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint said with a grin letting Phil tug him along after him. Yes, he might could get used to this kind of living he thought with a soft laugh, letting Phil lay him out on the covers and press gentle kisses to every scar.


End file.
